One Winter's Night
by xxskyWriterxx
Summary: On one painful Christmas Eve, Mac finds comfort in the simplest of places. A oneshot Christmas story/no couples intended. Mac's POV.


**One Winter's Night**

-A holiday 'Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends' Fanfiction-

I clutch my arms to my chest as the wind blows with its icy, biting breath, seeping through my thin, fleece jacket and whisking my hood clear off of my head, and my short, chestnut colored hair is whipped into a frenzy by the breeze. The night air is as cold as the unnatural chill of a supermarket freezer, and it drives stings like small darts deep into my exposed cheeks, which are burning, flushed, and numb from battling the ruthless December snowstorm. Soft, white flakes slice through the wind and twirl around me, encrusted in my blowing hair like a morning's frost, twisting and swirling into elaborate spiraling patterns as they are swept along by the relentless breeze. As hard as I try, I can't seem to stop myself from shivering; I've never before been so horribly cold. Bracing my trembling body against the wind, I tuck my frozen, gloved hands into my pockets and trudge on along the sidewalk, which to me looks more like a span of frigid Arctic snowdrifts rather than a man-made, concrete path. My gaze directed downward, away from the battering gusts, I catch a glimpse of a faint warm, buttery golden light, twinkling on the crests of the frozen drifts, winkling at me. And then I know that I've nearly made it.

I can nearly feel my heart rising, my spirits lifting, and through the frosty, dizzying haze of brilliant white against the blackness of the winter's night, I spot the familiar wrought iron fence, encrusted with ice and glittering with a friendly, warm golden glow. Relief swells in my chest like an ignited flame, my eyes widening and my mouth falling slightly open as I stare. My exhausted trudge quickens into a trot, and I soon find myself dashing clumsily along the walk, stumbling blindly in the knee deep snowfall, the blackness and the scattering snowflakes swirling dizzyingly around me. I might as well be a plastic figurine inside of a shaken slow globe, blanketed in the fall of the cheap, glittering plastic snow. My breath coming jagged and fast, stinging like cold fire against my freeze burned throat, I charge through the glittering iron gates of Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends, my chattering teeth gritted and my drenched sneakers slipping and sloshing through the knee high drifts. I barely feel the clouds of my steamy, condensed breath, glittering in the faint glow like dew encrusted spider's silk on a sunny morning. I ignore the beating wind, which is still threatening to knock me clean over and send me tumbling head over heels into the frigid slush. I can barely see the colorful Victorian mansion towering ahead of me as I dash madly up the front walk, with all its elaborate porches and spires and windowsills that jut out at wonderfully odd angles. All I want is to get myself inside, into the melting warmth of indoors and out of this freezing cold heck…Nothing matters more.

Stupid me. The swelling bubble of hope is shattered as I find myself slamming full force into the solid oak doors, my feet slipping and twisting over each other. Crying out in agony and surprise, I tumble and sprawl spectacularly onto the great heaps of snow; I instantly feel the cold bite mercilessly into my flesh with its icy fangs, soaking through my clothes and sending a fresh wave of bitter chill through my frozen body. I shiver uncontrollably, my nose throbbing and smarting from the sheer force of its recent impact with the hard front doors of Foster's. A warm pricking sensation suddenly ignites and I feel the gush of the hot blood against my face as it pours from my nostrils; groaning in disgust, I hold my shaking fingers to my face, attempting to stem the flow. The burning liquid drips sickeningly and soaks through the thin cotton of my gloves, my numb fingers tingling back to life as they are bathed in my running blood. All I can hear is the wind, howling as it tears through my hair and sweeps forcefully across the iced town. Sniffling, my eyes sparkling with tears of pain, I attempt to rise back onto my feet, but I only stumble and fall back onto the seat of my soaked pants, my hand still clutched tightly against my face as the dark blood trickles through my trembling fingers.

"Frankie! Bloo! Wilt!" I cry desperately, fighting to keep my voice from wavering as the warm words are instantly swept from my lips and whisked away into the hissing night. "Mr. Herriman, Eduardo, anybody!"

But I know that no one can hear me, and no one is going to answer.

Before I can utter another word, a loud wooden creaking noise splits the night and I am suddenly blinded by piercing white light, pouring through the open doorway and spilling over the glittering snow. I wince, squeezing my eyes shut and shielding my face with my free arm, still shaking like a windblown leaf. I can almost feel someone's eyes probing me, and I flinch as I feel a hand clutch my raised arm, yanking me to my feet.

"Oh my god; Mac, what have you done to…what...ahhh..?" a familiar, exasperated voice sputters desperately.

I slowly and painfully lower my arm from my face, and I gaze with wide eyes at my savior; Frankie Foster. She stands in front of me, petrified, her face a nasty shade of horror stricken white, which contrasts greatly with her mop of vivid crimson hair, whipping in the wind in her usual jagged ponytail; it is twisting gracefully like a tongue of windblown flame. The tall, spindly redhead leans over me like a distressed mother hen, wringing her hands, her eyes wide and her emerald, hooded sweatshirt billowing in the wind.

"Mac, what on god's green earth are you doing?" Frankie cries, gathering me up into her arms and dashing back into the Home, slamming the doors ferociously behind her. If she has observed that I am soaked to the bone and dripping with blood, she takes no notice of it; she's almost like a big sister that way. As the doors shut and the cold is sealed away, the sudden warmth hits me like a ton of bricks; I let my body go limp and I bask in it, the feeling slowly returning to my frigid limbs.

"Oh, what you were thinking, going out on a night like this? What…what have you **done **to yourself? Good god, you're bleeding like a burst leech!"

Frankie sets me down on a saggy, vividly violet sofa and dashes off wildly, her fiery hair flying behind her. I relax my aching body, leaning back against the velvet cushions, peering dreamily at my familiar surroundings; the tall, spacious rooms, the maze of shiny, echoing hallways, the elaborately carved banisters and the massive flights of stairs, the walls gleaming a startling rose hue. And to think that a few hours ago, I had been sitting gloomily in my family's dismal apartment, watching the snow fall and despairing at the fact that I wouldn't be able to visit Foster's for Christmas. No snowstorm could stop me from coming.

My head snaps up as Frankie comes bustling back into the grand entrance hall, carrying an armload of Band-Aid boxes and other first aid stuff, warm velvet blankets, a mug of steaming hot cocoa, and a wet rag. Grunting, she dumps her load loudly onto the polished floors, sets the cocoa aside and bends over me, the dipping rag clutched in her hands.

"Hold still, you hear me?" she orders commandingly, gingerly brushing the snow from my hair and smoothing the windblown strands back out of my flushed face. Muttering to herself, she mops my cheeks and nose with the wet rag, wiping my skin clean of the blood before stuffing a Kleenex into my trembling fingers.

"Here; hold your head back and squeeze your nose with this, tight."

I do as she says, staring at the high ceiling as she tucks the blankets snugly around me.

"That'll have to do, since it's not like we have extra clothes lying around this dump that would actually fit you…"

Her expression slightly tinged with disgust, Frankie eyes my bloodstained gloves and peels them off of my hands, gathering my icy fingers gently but firmly in her own. She lets out a small cry of surprise, quickly drawing her hands away.

"Holy crap, you're freezing! Here, take the cocoa before Coco finds out that I swiped it from the kitchen…Just don't drink it; I seriously doubt that it's sugar free."

She shoves the mug into my hand and its radiating warmth is bliss, soaking through my skin like a liquid, reawakening my senses. I blink particles of snow from my eyelashes, still holding the Kleenex firmly to my nose; it is still throbbing painfully, but I can feel the hot flow slowing. A silence hangs in the sugary air, which smells of the warm, spicy scent of fresh gingerbread. My stomach gives a desperate lurch but I resist; I'm not stupid enough to go and get high on sugar again. My eyes probe the grand roof, watering with the beckoning aroma of sugary sweets, and still the silence hangs.

"**Mac**…" I hear Frankie say, in a low and disapproving voice that sounds like my mom's when she's caught Terence thieving from the refrigerator. "Mac; you haven't said a word since I pulled you out of the snow; I expect an explanation for this, you know! Do you have any idea how mad Herriman's going to get when he sees the state of this couch? It'll mean hours of scrubbing the cushions with that revolting cleaner of his; ooh, sometimes I wish I could…"

"Frankie?"

Letting out a deep breath, Frankie relaxes, the dousing the familiar fire of fury that glitters in her eyes every time she loses her cool. And I've seen too much of that.

Frowning irritably, Frankie's gaze slides back to meet my own, her fingers drumming impatiently on the arm of the sofa. She sighs and the final line snaps; before I can calm her, she's on another one of her heated rants.

"Ok, for the last time, what are doing here, Mac? Did you somehow not _notice_ the raging winds of Alaska blowing in? And your mom; what's she going to think when she gets home from work and you're not there? She'll probably go ballistic and I'm going to get in trouble when she finds out that you walked half a mile in this storm to come all the way out here! And on Christmas Eve! She might even find out that you still come to Foster's after you told her that you'd left Bloo!"

"I left a note; do you really think I'd be _that_ stupid? And she probably wouldn't notice that I'm gone anyways."

I don't mean for that last sentence to come out, but it does anyway, to my great shame. I hang my head and divert my gaze, pressing the Kleenex closer to my face even though my nose has stopped bleeding, my eyes swimming with hot tears. Frankie's gone silent, her mouth hanging open wordlessly; I can see the sympathy crossing her face like a sliding shadow.

"Oh, Mac…" Frankie mutters desperately, her expression bathed with sorrow.

She drops down onto the sofa, cuddling up next to me and sliding her arm around my shoulders.

"You don't mean that; your mom loves you." She whispers gently, looking me deeply in the eyes. "If she'd known what you were going out to do, she'd have never let you go. She'd be worried about you, that you might get hurt or lost in the snow…"

"I know my way to Foster's, Frankie; **how** many times have I been here before?" I snap, the bloodied Kleenex drifting to the floor as I wrap both hands around my steaming mug of cocoa, hunching my shoulders and pulling the blanket tightly around me. "I wouldn't've gotten lost; I'll always know the way."

Frankie gazes at me, instinctively tightening her grip on my shoulders, her sad eyes glazed with pity. But I don't want her to feel sorry for me.

"I just wanted one…one _real_ Christmas. A Christmas where I didn't end up getting stomped over by Terrence and having him take all the stuff in my stocking. A Christmas where I'm actually where I want to be; where I'm…." My lip trembles. "…Home."

We sit there in heavy silence for a moment, the gingerbread scent wafting tantalizingly over my tingling taste buds. I let out an exasperated groan, suddenly aware of how stupid my whole dumb speech must have sounded.

"Geez; now I sound like an idiot from some dumb soap opera or something...just don't listen to me, ok?"

I huff and pull the blankets over my head, tucking my legs into the soft, warm velvet and sitting there sullenly, clutching my mug to my chest. Frankie is still staring at me, lost for words, her expression unreadable. Then she suddenly raises herself up from the couch in a single smooth movement, her fingers fumbling in the pockets of her spring green sweatshirt, her expression still blank.

"Hey; where're you going?"" I call after her, worry coloring my voice.

"I'm going to drive you home; you shouldn't be even be here."

My mouth hangs open stupidly for a second, my eyes wide and dumbstruck, unable to process what she's just said.

"Wh…what do mean?"

"I mean…." She turns to look at me, frowning, her set of keys jangling in her hand. "…I mean that it's time to get in the bus, Mac; I'll be there as soon as I get my other jacket. I hope that Wilt actually _dried_ it this time…"

I stammer uselessly, tightening my grip on the cocoa mug.

"Wha…I…you…" I shake my head and regain my sanity, as well as my disbelief. "What are you talking about, Frankie?" I cry. "I'm not going home _now_! I just got here and there's no way I'm going back out **there**!"

I jab a disapproving finger at the door as I speak, words of rage boiling out of my mouth. Frankie crosses her arms tightly across her chest, her scowl deepening and her foot tapping irritably on the floor.

"There **is** a way you're going back out there, and hear me, young man, I will find it!" Frankie exclaims, rolling back the sleeves of her jacket with frightening deliberation. My eyes widen and I shrink away from her, setting my mug down safely on a nearby coffee table and cursing my own stupidity.

Her face flushed a deep shade of infuriated crimson, Frankie seizes my outstretched arm and throws me over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes; I scream in protest, kicking and squirming with all of my might. I know that Frankie would never purposely hurt me, but she sure can dump me back off into Terrence's clutches. She has no idea what she's doing.

"PUT ME DOWN!" I shriek madly, clawing at her arms with my icy fingernails, my teeth gritted painfully. "PUTMEDOWNPUTMEDOWNPUTMEDOWN!"

"You ARE going back home, young man, whether you're coming willingly or whether I have to knock you out with a shovel and drag you by your heel! Now come on!; there's no way I'm helping you run away from your family on Christmas Eve!"

"NO!"

Panting, I clutch my hands into tiny fists and pummel the inescapable vise that Frankie has formed with her arms; she winces and delivers a stinging slap to my exposed wrist. A cry escapes my mouth and I withdraw my hands, which are prickling and burning from the strength of Frankie's blow. Steaming and muttering a long stream of very fierce words, Frankie seizes both of my wrists together in her free hand, wrapping her other arm around my torso and squeezing my small body against hers in some kind of wrestling hold; I wriggle and scream but I know that I can't break loose. Frankie takes a step towards the front doors, panting and tightening her grip on me as she attempts to shoulder one of them open. My mouth falls open; she's really going to do it, and there's nothing I can do to stop her. Squirming frantically, my eyes as wide as galaxies in my blanched face, my gaze is caught and held by the beckoning whiteness of Frankie's exposed forearm, bare from where she had rolled up her sleeves. My head spinning from desperation, I sink my teeth down into her flesh; she lets out a piercing shriek and I tumble out of her loosened hold, sprawling heavily over the ground and whacking the back of my head in the process. My head spins dizzily and the world tilts out at a crazed angle; grasping my throbbing head, I make an attempt to sit up, I but collapse back down, falling heavily against the wall of a corner of the entrance hall, my breath coming hard and fast. Frankie whirls on me in flash of wrath, her teeth gritted in pain, her eyes flashing ruthlessly, her fingers bared, and her scarlet hair flying in a burning slash.

"Oooohhhh…Now you are** really** going to get it, buster…." She hisses fiercely, yanking down the sleeves of her jacket and taking a menacing step towards me. Terror flashing in my wide eyes, I shrink back into the shadowy little corner, my head aching and my body trembling uncontrollably. But it's not Frankie I'm afraid of.

Out of the corner of my senses, I hear a faint gait, the familiar shuffling pace of my imaginary friend as he dashes across the shining halls of Foster's, overjoyed at some crazy, outrageous thing.

"!" I hear Bloo's chattering cries echoing in some distant hallway, but they grow steadily louder as he draws closer. He's coming, but Frankie doesn't seem to notice this in the least. She stalks slowly towards me, a flame as bright as her hair smoldering in her eyes.

"You…are…going…_home_!" she cries, bending down and seizing a handful of the front of my red T-shirt and pulling me to my feet; I let out a cry of despair and cower away from her, desperately sagging against her strength, hot tears prickling in my eyes.

"Frankie…please…" I moan, accepting the bitter truth that she overpowers me tenfold, and I'm going to end up at the foot of my apartment door like an abandoned kitten, shivering in the cold. "Frankie…PLEASE let me go…please…"

She squeezes my arm and I swallow hard, gripping a sleeve of her emerald jacket with my free hand, a tiny tear escaping from the corner of my eye and trickling down my cheek in a shining, salty streak. I don't even bother to wipe it away; that's how desperate I am.

"Frankie, I don't want to go back there…Not here, not now. I just…I just want be to be someplace where I can actually...enjoy my Christmas, you know." I let out a shaky sigh and my lip trembles involuntarily; I must look like such a moron. I tug at Frankie's sleeve and the piercing glow in her eyes is doused, as if someone had gone and drenched them with a dripping hose. It's then that I know that she is hearing me out.

"Mac…." She murmurs, her voice dripping with disbelief as her fingers loosen their hold on the front of my shirt. I stand there helplessly, swaying slightly on the spot, looking up at her with eyes as wide as the sky. We stare at each other and the fragile moment lingers gracefully in the air, like the thin silk weaving of a spider's web, like glittering, finely spun glass. And in an instant it is shattered, torn into a zillion pieces at the noisy arrival of my blundering, yet spunky imaginary friend.

"!" Bloo cries, bounding down a towering flight of stairs like an overexcited rabbit, his eyes sparkling with their usual mischievous liveliness. "Fraaankie, Wilt is playing checkers with Jackie Khones and Eduardo is helping Coco look for her cocoa and Mr. Herriman is yelling at some people and Crackers is watching TV and I CAN'T REACH THE FIRE POKER! None of those suckers will even- WHATTHEHECKAREYOUGUYSDOING?" Bloo screeches hysterically, jumping up nearly two feet in the air.

Frankie and I freeze in place, me cowering in the corner and Frankie holding me up by my shirt collar, our eyes wide and staring guiltily at our blue intruder. Frankie releases my shirt and takes a nervous step away from me; my mind searches frantically for some kind of excuse, but I can already tell that my efforts are going to be pointless. Twisting my dumfounded expression into a grim and serious one, I turn resolutely away from Bloo and tighten my grip on Frankie's sleeve; wide eyed, she turns to look at me and I look back, my eyes serious. My scowl deepening, I release my hold on her sleeve and seize the folds of my rumpled shirt, lifting it up to expose my bare chest. Frankie lets out a tiny gasp, and Bloo shoves his way into our huddle, obviously burning with curiosity.

"Hey guys, what's going on?;** I** wanna see it toooooo- Whoa. That is one nasty looking bruise you've got there; I don't wanna see that ugly old thing, _that's_ not what I asked for. Geez, I think it's looking at me or somethin- my gosh, I think the alien zombie bruises are coming to attack! C'mon, Mac, we've gotta stop them before the take over the earth and turn us all into handsome zombie slaves so they can force us to bake them fuzzy, flying croissants!" He lets out a dramatic scream for the effect, and then begins to charge around the hall in crazed circles, miming shooting with a laser gun and giving it his own zapping sound effects.

I ignore him and continuing staring purposely at Frankie, lowering my shirt calmly.

"Oh, Mac; where did you get that bruise?-did you fall down somewhere or…I didn't just give it to you, did I? Oh god, what was I _thinking_? Mac, you don't know how sorry I am; I don't know what came over-"

"Frankie. Focus. It wasn't your fault, none of this stupid stuff is your fault. It was all Terrence. I don't know what he's got himself into at school, but there's always this awful stinking smoky smell coming from him and sometimes he's just so out of mind that he loses it and…" I can't go on. Another tear slides down my cheek and I painfully squeeze my eyes shut, fighting to keep a composed expression.

"Mac, I don't believe…And your mom doesn't know about any of this?"

I slowly open my eyes, my anger boiling up like a flame inside of me.

"Of course she doesn't; she doesn't know about anything. I think she's even forgotten about my whole sugar thing, because she packed chocolate chip cookies in my school lunch yesterday. I had to run and throw them out before I lost it; all my stupid classmates were staring at me." I sniff and wipe my face on my sleeve, attempting to soak up the hot wetness of my tears, which are now pouring uncontrollably down my cheeks. "Frankie, I don't wanna go home; I want to have Christmas here, with you and Bloo and Wilt and Eduardo and Coco and everybody else here at Foster's. I…I know it sounds really dumb, but you guys are my family, and this is my home, and I want to be at home for Christmas. Please?; after my mom reads my note, she'll think I'm at a friend's house. She'll never know."

For a moment, I don't know what Frankie'll say. She's just staring hard at me, and I can almost see the gears in her head turning as she thinks it all over. Bloo has gone silent, and he stares pleadingly at her as she mulls, shuffling up to my side.

"Fraaaankie, let Mac stay! I want him HERE for Christmas! **Pleeeease**; I've got all this awesome stuff we can do, like climbing the big Christmas tree and throwing ornaments at people and stealing Christmas cookies and setting the house on fire and…"

"Bloo, do me a favor and shut up, will you?" I say playfully, giving him a bit of a pinch and chuckling through my tears as his mouth falls open in pure shock. When I look back at Frankie, she's sporting a grin that stretches clean across her face; it's such a sunny smile that it could probably clear up the thundering snowstorm if she were to just stick her head out the window.

"Oh, c'mere you two…"

She embraces Bloo and me in a crushing hug, the tips of her fiery hair tickling our cheeks; I laugh and feel the stress slipping off of me like rainwater as I grin and throw my arms gently around her neck. Bloo chokes in Frankie's grip, attempting feebly to break free.

"So does this mean I'm staying for Christmas?" I ask delightedly, my eyes shining and alight with glee. Frankie laughs her tinkling laugh, gently stroking my hair and wiping the sticky tearstains from my cheeks; I wince a bit and brush away a few strands of her crimson hair that threaten to poke out my eyes.

"Of course you're staying." She whispers gently in my ear before setting Bloo and me back down on our feet, smiling at my imaginary friend in an almost malicious way.

"Hey, lady, you stay away from me." Bloo says suspiciously, backing away. "I KNOW you're planning something..."

"TICKLE ATTACK!" Frankie screams out all of a sudden, wiggling her outstretched fingers and lunging for Bloo, who shrieks and darts off in the opposite direction like a blue sparkler on the fourth of July.

"Let's get him." I say to Frankie, rolling up my damp sleeves with relish.

Bloo's cries of "YOU FILTHY TRAITOR!" are drowned out amongst the flow of his delighted laughter, bubbling and curling through the air as Frankie and I tickle him ferociously; so ferociously in fact, that after a few minutes, he is left completely breathless, panting and coughing on the floor as Frankie and I giggle at him.

"This is going to be the best Christmas ever, I can tell already." I declare with a shining smile, slapping hands with Frankie.

And a few minutes later, as Bloo and I scramble up through the prickly, pine smelling limbs of the twenty foot tall Foster's Christmas tree and hoist ourselves to its peak, I am 100% sure of it. Giggling ecstatically, Bloo seizes the glittering star off of the top of the tree and places it on his own head, bellowing and thumping his chest like some kind of mutant Tarzan. Laughing, I pull the star from his head and finger it gently, this shimmering trophy, this sparkling flicker of true joy. It was so beautiful that it could have been a real star, a dazzling gem of the heavens that had somehow been knocked loose from its perch and had fallen to the earth in a shimmering shower of golden sparks. I wonder how many moments like this I would have, moments of pure, radiating bliss. But I decide that it doesn't matter; I could have been holding the world in my hands. At least until Bloo strikes the star out of my grasp with a sharp blow, laughing maniacally as it plummets to the ground and shatters into a million tiny golden shards, its dazzling golden glow flickering and dying like a crushed firefly.

"Bloo!" I cry, scandalized, glaring ferociously in his direction.

"Hey, hey; hold your fire, General; I'm in the Christmas spirit tonight, baby!"

Pursing my lips in anger, I throw myself at him and down we tumble, a bundle of tangled arms and legs, screaming as we crash downward through the tangle of prickling pine needles and smashing glass ornaments, to land heavily upon the floor with a painful thud. We sit on the ground for a second, our backsides throbbing from the impact and the floor scattered with a blanket of fallen needles. And then Bloo breaks into hysterical laughter, pointing at the back of my head and screeching in delight. I grope and pull a paper ornament out of my hair; it is cut clumsily in the shape of a triangle and I seriously don't know what it's supposed to be.

"What's so funny?" I ask him suspiciously, tossing the paper ornament aside and folding my arms irritably.

"Nothing, oh, it's nothing…" he says lightheartedly, gesturing dismissively and looking back at the towering Christmas tree, its rainbow dancing lights sparkling in his eyes. "You know, Mac, this tree'll look a lot better with all the presents under it. Presents for me, and Coco, and also me, and maybe Wilt, but definitely for me. Lots and LOTS of presents." He's nearly shivering with the excitement, and I decide to knock some sense into him, just to get him back for the 'paper ornament incident', which I probably don't want to understand anyways.

"But if you're too greedy, Santa won't bring you anything."

Bloo's mouth falls open.

"Nothing?"

"That's right: n-o-t-h-i-n-g. Well, maybe he might leave you some coal if he's feeling generous."

"Coal?" Bloo cries indignantly, throwing his arms around desperately. "But I want a Super Mega Blasto Goo Cannon with a forty foot range! I don't want any stupid black rocks! What good are stupid black rocks?"

"I guess you're going to have to be good then." I say expertly, crossing my arms serenely. Bloo takes one look at me and then scrambles upright, dashing off down the hall and into the great dining room.

"Here Frankie, let me help you with that…" I hear him say super sweetly; his words are followed by and earsplitting crash, and Frankie's familiar shriek of horror.

"BLOO!" she cries, her voice dripping with pure boiling rage. Bloo screams and his cry is followed by a whole series of shattering smashing sounds; I laugh to myself and turn back to look at the Christmas tree behind me. Even without the star on top, it glitters in the dark like sunlit snow. I wonder how it will look when the morning rolls around, when it is surrounding by heaps and heaps of wrapped gifts. Christmas morning. I can hardly wait.

-END-


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